Come Whatever
by BlueRiverSteel
Summary: Companion piece to my multi-chapter fic, The Ties That Bind. Just a collection of Winchester sibling one-shots that just don't have a place in the plot of TTTB. Fluff, tears, and feels abound!
1. Chapter 1

**Come Whatever**

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Kate!

A/N: Welcome to my collection of Winchester sibling one shots! Some will be fluffy, some sad, some sweet; it's just going to be random small scenes that don't really have a place in my AU multi-chapter fic, The Ties That Bind. If you have a prompt or a scene you'd like to see, feel free to review or PM me and I'll write it up for you!

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>A First Time for Everything<strong>

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><p>The first time Dean stole food to feed Sammy and Kate, he cried for an hour behind the convenience store before taking it back to the hotel room.<p>

It wasn't as if he'd had much of a choice; Dad had been gone far longer than he'd expected, almost a week this time; and Dean had already learned what happened if he asked adults for help when it came to feeding his siblings. Dad had been called back from a hunt to conduct an interview with Child Protective Services the first time they'd run out of food and Dean had asked his teacher to borrow some money.

He never asked an adult for help again, and made sure both Katie and Sam knew not to, as well.

But both Dean's younger siblings had eaten the last of the food for breakfast that morning. He'd skipped that meal altogether; but crouched on the cement behind the store, a package of jerky and a can of soup clutched in his small fist, Dean was pretty sure he'd never been _less_ hungry.

All the twelve-year-old could think was _Mom would be so disappointed_.

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><p>The first time Kate stole money to help Dean feed Sammy, she decided she was a coward of the worst kind.<p>

The bullies had had it coming, she supposed. Every stinkin' day, the three of them—bigger boys, mean and intimidating—cornered her and demanded her lunch money. It wasn't as if she had much of a choice; she could've easily taken all three of them, even if she was pretty small and skinny for her age. But Dad had been called back from a hunt to have a meeting with the principle the last time she'd gotten in a fight and badly sprained a kid's wrist, despite the fact she was the one with a shiner and several witnesses that agreed the taller boy had swung first.

She never got in a schoolyard brawl again, and made sure Dean and Sammy knew not to, as well.

But when the boys took the last three dollars she had—and it was Dean's lunch money, at that, he had _insisted_ she eat that day—and had Kate bent over while the biggest, meanest one punched her in the stomach and the other two held her up; it was all too easy to slip two fingers into the bully's pocket and grab his small leather wallet. She almost cried—in both relief and despair—when she opened it later, sequestered in the girl's restroom, and found a crisp $20.00 bill in the cash pocket. A $20.00 that would feed them for a few days, she guessed; a $20.00 she had earned by _pickpocketing_, not even stealing outright or winning it fair and square.

All the thirteen-year-old could think was _Dean will be so disappointed._

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><p>Sammy never did steal to feed his family, not until he was old enough to hustle pool with his brother.<p>

When he was a sophomore in high school, he was assigned a project—to come up with an idea that would earn him $100.00 in a month, and then write a report on how he would manage the funds. Sam had a vested interest in the project, and quickly determined that he could bring in the allotted amount within a few days by offering tutoring and technical support for the newfangled computers everybody was getting their hands on these days, that he seemed to understand almost instinctively. Dad had been called back from a hunt when he turned in the paper; the teacher praising him enthusiastically for raising such a creative, bright boy.

Sam had never done his very best on a project again, though he never told Kate and Dean as much.

But the idea had settled in his mind; and the first time Sam came back to the hotel room with a wad of cash to hand his brother, enough to feed them well for the rest of the week at least, he smiled at Dean and Kate's shocked faces. "You don't have to lift stuff from the corner store ever again," he said. And in that moment, when his siblings looked like Christmas had come early and their world had imploded around them all at once, Sam decided he despised nothing so much as the lifestyle their father had dragged them into as kids. Decided there was nothing sadder than his older siblings having to lose their innocence in an attempt to salvage his, nothing that made him more furious than the idea that Winchesters didn't get 'normal' things like consistent meals, proud parents, a stable home.

He decided then he was getting out of this life as soon as was humanly possible. He would get a scholarship to some top-of-the-line college, get perfect grades, get a job that would ensure neither he nor his siblings ever went hungry again. The family business could screw itself, Sam was out.

And all the fifteen-year-old could think was _Dad will be so disappointed._


	2. Chapter 2

**Something They'll Never Ever Have**

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><p>Disclaimer: I own nothing but Kate!<p>

A/N: Well, this one was originally supposed to go somewhere entirely different, but this is where it ended up! For reference, Dean is 11, Kate 9, and Sammy 7.

Enjoy!

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><p>Dean scowled as he walked down the hall of Bishop Elementary School, headed to meet Sam and Kate at the big tree they had appointed as their after-school rendezvous point. The kids around him laughed and shouted as they ran every which way, excitement at the end of the school day palpable in the very air. Greetings, jokes, and plans for the evening were shared as they all pushed past him in their pairs and small groups.<p>

The eldest Winchester set his jaw against the instinct to duck his head as he walked. It was his first day here, first rule of establishing a reputation: no signs of weakness. If you looked shy or scrawny or like you could easily be pushed around, the bullies would always single you out first thing.

He knew from experience.

Dean caught sight of Sammy ahead of him, looking at his shoes as two larger—but still smaller than Dean—boys stood in front of him. They were attempting to look intimidating, the boy recognized the stance—feet wide apart, chests puffed out, hands balled into loose fists. Sam mumbled something before stepping forward in an attempt to shuffle past the boys, who shifted closer together to block him.

Dean's eyes narrowed. He was close enough now to hear what they were saying.

"…think you're so smart, do you? Maybe you are. But it doesn't really matter, since you're a scrawny little brat with a grandpa sweater that's too big for him anyway—"

Dean had heard enough.

"Heya, Sammy," he cut in, shoving past one of the kids with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. "Ready to go home?"

His little brother looked up at him, gratitude shining in his hazel eyes, and nodded silently. Dean put an arm around the kid's shoulders and started to guide him away. But before they got two steps, he couldn't resist turning back to the burly third grader who'd been mocking Sam.

"Glad you like my old sweater," he said evenly, not bothering to conceal his disgust for the boy. "It was one of my favorites."

And then he held Sam tightly against his shoulder as he led him to the front door. They made it all the way to the tree—Kate wasn't there yet—before Sam said anything, his eyes fixed firmly on his shoes the whole way.

Poor kid would never stop being bullied if he kept that up.

Dean turned to his little brother and put a finger under his chin, drawing the boy's head up. Sam's eyes met his, and they were a little more watery than Dean knew they ought to be. Taking Sam by the shoulders, he smiled. "Chin up, Sammy. You gotta walk tall or you're always going to be pushed around by kids like that, got it?"

Sam nodded, but immediately looked down again. Dean repeated the chin-up action, voice a little more stern. "No, no. Don't you hang your head. You got _no_ reason to."

"Should I stop wearing your sweater?" Sammy asked, softly.

Dean blinked in surprise. He knew what it cost the kid to even _consider_ it; with them constantly switching schools, tossed between crappy motel rooms and different friends' homes, with Dad gone most of the time, never knowing where he was or when (_if?_) he'd be back…

And with Sammy only recently having discovered the existence of monsters…

Dean knew the sweater was a source of comfort for his little brother, a security blanket of sorts, a reminder that Dean was watching out for him; and while he'd never allow that sort of consolation for himself, he'd also never dream of taking it from Sam.

"No," he answered, firmly. "They only make fun of your clothes because they know how much smarter than them you are. They can't insult your intelligence, so they insult how you look. Ignore 'em, Sammy, wear that sweater if you want to."

"But I'll never have any friends if I do."

Dean finally broke down and folded Sam against his chest, glad to see Kate coming across the schoolyard. She was much better with the hugging and stuff than he was.

"Yes you will," he lied and hated himself for it. Winchesters didn't get to have friends. "The kind of friends you want won't care if you wear a big sweater or not."

Sammy nodded, his floppy hair rubbing against Dean's own sweater and crackling with static electricity. Kate had caught sight of them and was jogging in their direction, her face concerned.

"Everything okay?" she murmured when she arrived, a hand coming to rest between Sammy's shoulder blades. Dean nodded, willing her to not make it awkward for Sam. The younger boy pulled away from his brother, swiping at his eyes impatiently, hair askew and several strands floating in the air from the static. Kate smiled and combed her fingers through his bangs in an attempt to tame them. "Ah, I see. Poor Sam needs a haircut, is all. I'd cry if my bangs looked like that too."

Sam giggled, and Dean quirked a smile at his sister.

"That's not why I was crying," their little brother said softly. "Dean was helping me with the mean boys who made fun of my sweater."

Kate looked fierce for a moment, then softened. She bent a little so her face was even with her little brothers and rubbed Sam's arm. "Your favorite sweater? They didn't like it?" She looked genuinely shocked, as if the very idea was unfathomable. "They must've been blind."

Dean almost laughed, and Sammy did.

"No they weren't! Dean says they were stupid, though."

Kate nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, that must be it. But don't tell them that, okay? Don't want to hurt their feelings."

"But...they hurt mine," Sam looked a little lost, and Dean couldn't help but put an arm around the kid again.

"And you're better than that," Kate answered with a smile. "You just be proud of you, okay? You don't have to put them down to feel good about yourself like they do. Because you got plenty to feel good about already!"

"I do?"

Dean grinned and pulled his little brother along, beginning the short walk to the motel-of-the-week. "Yeah! You're real smart—"

"And handsome," Kate supplied. "Even though you need a haircut."

"And funny—"

"—and kind—"

"—and awesome—"

Sammy was giggling again. "Okay, okay you guys! I got it."

Dean ruffled his hair, messing it up again so it stuck out in all directions. "Good."

"And you got one thing those boys will never _ever_ have," Kate said, slinging her free arm over Sam's shoulder so he walked between her and Dean, surrounded by sweatered arms and warm torsos. He looked up at her.

"What?"

"Me and Dean," she answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sam smiled wider.

"Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

**Awry**

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Kate!

A/N: Whew, next one shot is out! This one takes place about six months after Sam leaves for Stanford, so it's a bit more Kate/Dean-centric. I loved the idea of Kate blowing John off to meet a need Dean would never allow himself to acknowledge, much less act upon…

Huge thanks to _summerald_ for beta-ing this one for me! She rocks!

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><p>There had been a <em>plan<em>.

Kate wasn't much for touting her own intelligence; but she'd worked _every aspect_ of this plan, every possibility, every potential question, every lie she'd have to tell. It was a solid plan, every contingency taken into account.

The job had started simply enough; she'd caught wind of a vamp nest in tiny Mariston, Nebraska—about six hours southwest of where she really wanted to be—so she'd mentioned it to Dad on the tail end of their last job in southern Colorado. He'd told her to take Dean and be careful; he was headed to meet up with an 'old friend' (Dad Code for 'a fellow hunter who may or may not actually be friendly') to work a witch case in Georgia.

Just as she'd planned.

Dean hadn't said much on the way there; he didn't say much to her at all these days, not since Sammy left for Stanford. Kate suspected he blamed her, at least partially, for Sam's perceived betrayal of the family—and it wasn't something she could deny; she _had_ encouraged the kid to apply for college, to make his own choice, to do what he wanted with his life.

She hadn't encouraged a complete meltdown like there had been that night, nor the things Sam said to Dad, nor their complete refusal to speak to one another. _That_ had never been her intention; but it was what had happened; and all Dean could see was that Sam had left, with no intention to return, and Kate had supported him.

She knew she'd hurt her older brother, but she had a plan to….well, if not fix it, at least start down the road to repairing her relationship with him.

Hers _and_ Sam's. A twofer: it was perfect, this plan.

So they'd hunted the vamps—an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of cow country had served as a home base for the monsters—and put down the six males and four females that made up the nest.

Just as she'd planned.

They'd gone out for beers afterward, as planned, and Kate had broached the idea with Dean—as planned—and he had agreed they ought to jig the four hundred miles north to visit Bobby—as planned. It had been months since they saw their surrogate Uncle last, and with Christmas less than a week away, it was the perfect time to drop in.

_Especially_ since Bobby wouldn't be alone, though Dean didn't know it.

At least, that was the plan.

The one twist Kate hadn't taken into account was the presence of a siren in the podunk little Nebraska town. Nor said creature's radar zooming hard in on her older brother's chiseled face and cursedly perfect green eyes.

Because _really_? Why should she have? A vamp nest and an ancient water spirit in the same town _at the same time_? It was a wonder there was still a Mariston to save.

Regardless, Dean had been lured off by the monster's song—which incidentally sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Kate, she failed to see the appeal—but she had followed him doggedly, determined not to leave him to deal with the creature alone.

"Dean!" she'd shouted over squealing noise that was making her ears ache. "The only way to beat it is to walk away!"

"….Can't…" her brother had responded faintly, not even slowing.

_God damn it, Dean._

This was _not_ in the plan.

The siren had led Dean to an isolated field, where Kate shuddered to think what she had planned for him—but it didn't matter, because she'd not get the chance. The beautiful being had taken one look at the tagalong her prey had brought and attacked.

It was a fatal mistake.

Even through the haze of her magic, Dean had been unable to sit by idly while his sister was killed. He'd tried helping, but the siren was stronger than both siblings together, and her song was still working on Dean.

"_Walk_…._away_…"Kate had gasped in agony as the siren closed its freezing fingers around her throat. Without hesitation, Dean had risen and started the other direction. The siren, sensing the loss of her prey—and therefore, her life—turned back toward Dean and sang louder.

Dean stumbled, fell.

Kate had struck the creature hard across the face with a rock she'd managed to get her numb fingers around, but it wasn't nearly enough. The siren had just grinned evilly, tightened freezing fingers until Kate was seeing black spots, and sang even louder.

Still Dean crawled away, fighting for every inch.

The siren had gone berserk then, nearly screaming her song, but the oldest Winchester just kept moving—weakening by the second, Kate could tell, but still moving further away, away, always away…

Finally, the creature had given one last screech of rage and dropped like a stone. Kate gasped for air as she shoved it off her, disgusted. She didn't take time to recover; instead rising, stumbling, running to her fallen brother.

Dean was still; eyes closed, face pale, heartbeat thready and weak.

Also not in the plan.

Kate had managed somehow to get her much larger, much heavier brother back to the Impala—it had taken some ingenuity and a makeshift stretcher, but she'd managed—and now was driving toward Bobby's at well over the speed limit.

She struggled against the tears that sparked in her eyes—she was already having trouble breathing from the near-strangulation, the lump in her throat tears brought just made it harder to get oxygen through her bruised windpipe.

As did the panic clawing at her chest.

"Bobby?" she'd forced her voice to be steady in the phone speaker. "Dean's hurt, we're coming in hot. Siren. He got away, but now he's cold and unconscious and I don't like his heartbeat…okay, thanks. Is he there with you? God, he's going to be furious…"

Her plan was shot all to hell now; she hoped this whole thing didn't come back to bite her hard in the ass before it was all said and done.

They pulled into Bobby's long before sunrise, and Kate stumbled out; they'd heard her arrive and ran out to assist. Kate stood back, emotion closing off her throat as she took in Bobby's ball cap and the massive frame beside him that dwarfed the older man.

_Sammy_.

It had been nearly six months since she saw her baby brother, and he had gotten even _taller_, if it was possible. He towered over her more than ever now, floppy brown hair hanging in hazel eyes as he flashed her a tight smile, concern for Dean making their reunion something far different than what she'd planned.

Tears sparked in her eyes as she followed the two men carrying Dean inside. It was all just too much; seeing Sammy, fearing for Dean….

She sat down on the front step, arms folded across her torso, and rested her head on her knees, trying to pull herself together.

She should go inside.

She should be there when Bobby determined how bad off Dean was.

She should have been more alert to begin with, never let the siren _near_ her brother…

"Kate?" Sam's soft baritone interrupted her self-indictment, and she unfolded her slender frame to look up at him. He put a hand on her back as he sat down beside her, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Bobby's looking him over. He thinks he'll be fine with a simple spell and some sleep."

Tears again. This time from relief. She managed a jerky nod for Sam, who squeezed her shoulder. "How are you?" he asked, concern barely masked. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she answered hoarsely. "Just sore and tired and…god, just done in."

Sam drew her close to his side, warm and soft, and kissed her hair. "I missed you, sis." Kate closed her eyes to keep them from overflowing, and hugged him back. "Missed you too, Sammy. My _god_ you've gotten big."

Sam's laugh was rich and free, a welcome sound—there'd been too little laughter in her life of late—and Kate's face quirked into a grin in response. "Seriously! Can you get any taller? Please don't try, I'm going to have to start shouting up to you to be heard."

He grinned down at her. "I can't seem to stop."

"You are a grown man, Samuel. You'd better stop at some point."

"Ooh, _Samuel_? Ouch, what'd I do to earn that?"

"Make your sister—your _big_ sister, mind you—feel like a shorty."

"Not my fault you got more of Mom's genes than Dad's."

Kate chuckled. They both straightened at the sound of the screen door squeaking open behind them. Bobby stood over both of them, a crooked grin on his face.

"What?" Kate stood, not bothering to hide her terror—somewhat mitigated by the look on Bobby's face, he'd never be grinning if it was bad—and Sam stood with her, keeping his arm around her shoulder firmly.

"Idjit is out like a light," Bobby chuckled. "I had all the ingredients for the Anti-Siren Serum on hand, so we got it into him on time. He'll be fine."

Kate let out a soft breath as her legs went weak, too relieved even to smirk at Bobby's random nickname for whatever spell had just saved Dean's life. "Oh thank god…"

"So that's one down, one to go," Bobby replied, fixing her with a stern glare. "You lemme have a look at you now that your brother's settled, girl."

"I'm fine," she said automatically, frowning when both men scoffed and led her inside.

Bobby gave her ice for her throat, but Sam insisted on disinfecting a couple of smaller lacerations and wrapping her sprained wrist himself. Kate let them fuss, knowing that if their positions were reversed, she'd be just as keen to treat the hurts, small though they may be.

Wasn't that what this whole plan was about, after all?

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><p>Dean slowly became aware of his surroundings as he clawed his way back toward consciousness. Some lingering sense of danger told him he needed to wake up, that something was—or had been?—wrong, that his sister might be in trouble…<p>

But no, that wasn't right. The scent of whiskey and old books made its way into his brain; he was at Bobby's.

Bobby's was safe.

Still, that gut feeling…Dean racked his brain as his nerves began to register his physical condition; warm, sore, and..._hungry_. Something scratchy pressed into his cheek and when he moved, he felt the tug of a rough blanket.

A haunting song filled his mind, and he gasped as he remembered—the siren! Kate had been in its clutches, literally, and his only option had been to run away.

Oh god, it had taken literally every _ounce_ of willpower in his being to turn away from her; not only because of the Song, which had lost most of its luster the moment the monster's fingers had closed around his sister's neck, but because walking away from Kate in danger was nearly _impossible_.

The only reason he'd managed was because that was literally the only way to kill a siren—to hear her song and still walk away.

He remembered how hard it had been, going to his knees, _crawling, _every centimeter torture as he left his sister behind…

Then nothing.

_Shit, Kate._

He forced his eyes open, struggling upright and blinking hard against the blinding sunlight that shone through the living room window.

"Wha—?"

"Dean?" Next thing he knew, his field of vision was almost entirely obscured by blonde curls as Kate threw herself at him. Dean's arms went around his sister, fiercely, and he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. He didn't care to ask questions just then; she was all right, somehow she'd gotten both of them back to Bobby's, and she was _okay_.

So he just held her, trying to calm his racing heart.

"_God_, Katie…"

"I'm here, Dean, I'm okay and so are you. We made it to Bobby's in time." Kate pulled back, hands on either side of his face and searching his eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Katie, let the man breathe," a familiar voice chuckled from nearby. Dean's heart skipped a beat, and he blinked, searching his sister's eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

She was trying—and failing magnificently—to hold back a grin.

Dean leaned back and looked over her shoulder, taking in Bobby's messy living room, cluttered desk, overflowing bookshelves…

…and the smiling face of his youngest brother sitting in a chair nearby. Dean huffed a shocked breath, feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut.

"Hi Dean."

For a split second, the oldest Winchester wasn't sure how to respond; there had been so many things he'd wanted to say to Sam in the last six months, angry things, heartbroken things, _hateful_ things.

And now he couldn't remember a single one.

He swung his legs over the side of the couch, standing shakily; Sam did the same, and all Dean could think about was getting his arms around the kid. He took two steps forward, but Sammy's longer legs—was he _ever_ going to stop getting taller?—carried him to meet Dean faster; and then they were embracing, hard slaps on the back and identical grins, though neither could see.

Dean couldn't deny he held a little tighter than he normally would have—six months was the longest he'd ever gone so far from his little brother, and that was counting his stint at a boy's home when he was a teenager. He had done everything he could, too, to follow Dad's decree that Sam wasn't to be contacted. Though Dean knew Dad was proud of Sammy's accomplishments and visited Stanford regularly to check on him; John was all about respect, and Sam had been anything but respectful the night he left and therefore must be punished until he came back with apologies on his lips.

Dean also knew Kate blew off that particular order on a pretty regular basis. And even though he never asked, she always told him about her talks with Sam—how he was adjusting to college life, his new friends, how well he was doing in classes.

But it wasn't the same as talking to the kid himself, and Dean had been worried. Every night, he'd thought of Sammy; wondering if he still drew salt lines at night to stay safe, if he had enough to eat, if he kept a weapon under his pillow, just in case.

Dean couldn't seem to help it.

So now that he had his wayward brother in his arms, he squeezed tight, relishing the chance to assure himself Sam was strong and healthy.

He was slightly encouraged by the realization that he was getting the same treatment from the younger man.

Laughing, Dean pulled back after a few more moments.

"Heya, Sammy."


	4. Chapter 4

**Caretaker**

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><p>Disclaimer: I own nothing but Kate!<p>

A/N: Hi all! This one shot stemmed from the idea that Dean couldn't have always been a first rate super-sibling who always knows exactly what to do when his kid brother and little sister are sick; there had to be a first time, right? And in true Winchester fashion, it didn't likely go smoothly….and this one shot was born! For reference, Dean is nine, Kate eight, and Sam five.

Enjoy!

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><p><em>You stay in this room, Dean. Don't open the door, don't answer the phone. If I'm calling, I'll let it ring once, hang up, and call right back. There's enough food to last three days, I should be back by then. If I'm not, call Pastor Jim; his number is right by the phone. Most of all, look after your brother and sister. If something tries to get inside, shoot first and ask questions later, got it?<em>

Dad's words rang through Dean's head on repeat, like a mantra, and he kept looking for anything in the man's pre-hunt ritual that would help him right now.

Katie snored softly from the bed she had been sharing with Sam while Dad was gone, the medicines Uncle Bobby had given them for her recently-broken arm causing her to sleep more heavily than normal.

Because under normal circumstances, Katie would've woken when Sam started tossing and turning a few hours ago. The kid had been fussy all evening; picking at his dinner until Dean was seeing red, refusing to cooperate during bath time, alternately whining about the need to wash and giggling madly as he splashed his older brother and made a mess all over the bathroom floor. There'd been a near-meltdown when Dean tried to put him to bed. Kate was the one who usually read the bedtime stories, but she was barely awake, and when she tried to read to him, had only stumbled over the words and slurred her phrases until Sammy started to cry with frustration.

Katie had looked stricken, and Dean offered to take over. It was an acceptable compromise, to the five year old, and he'd finally fallen asleep against Dean's side after the fourth story.

The _fourth_.

Dean had woken when Sam first started sleeping restlessly—kicking, turning over, little moans too loud in the quiet hotel room. He'd waited for the boy to calm or wake—Sammy was often plagued by night terrors, and Dean and Kate tag-teamed comforting him back to sleep when the monsters in Sammy's head came to play.

Obviously, Kate would be doing no comforting tonight. So Dean had lain awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness as he awaited the inevitable crying, calling out, or if it was a particularly rough night, the screaming.

But it never came. Sammy just tossed and turned, whimpered, and slept on fitfully.

After nearly an hour of it, Dean had been _this_ close to going over to see if maybe his kid brother was sick, when a hiccuppy sob sounded from the other bed.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, crossing the small distance between the beds in seconds to check on his little brother.

"Dee?" the kid slipped into toddler speak a lot when he was tired or sick. Dean needed to remember to coach him out of it.

Just not right now.

Right now, he crawled onto the bed and folded his little brother against his side, thinking he'd woken from a long-ass nightmare. He frowned when he noticed Sam's tiny body giving off heat like a little furnace, reached over to turn on the light so he could see the kid's face. Sammy blinked groggily then hid his face against Dean's shoulder. Beside him, Katie stirred fitfully.

"Don' feel so good," the boy whimpered through his tears, looking up at Dean with those puppy eyes that always broke his brother's heart a little.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Dean drew back a little, noticing the flushed spots high on Sammy's cheeks. Poor kid had a fever.

"Head hurts," Sam whined, tears gathered in his hazel eyes. He rubbed at his left ear. "And my ear feels funny."

Dean didn't know much about illness in kids—that was usually Dad's department; he told Dean what to do, usually between research or while driving, and Dean did his best to comply—so he racked his brain, trying to think of a time he or Kate had exhibited these symptoms.

_Headache. Fever. Earache. Trouble sleeping._

Sounded like an ear infection, Dean realized with a punch of dread. The one time Kate had gotten an ear infection, she'd had to go to the doctor.

But they couldn't go to the doctor without Dad.

Biting back the urge to panic, Dean took a deep breath. Maybe…maybe some Tylenol would tide Sam over until Dad got home…

He extricated himself from Sam's arms, and the boy whimpered in protest. "I gotta get you some medicine for that headache, buddy," he whispered in response, forcing a smile. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Dean rummaged through the duffel that held their first aid and medical supplies. Most of it he wasn't allowed to touch, but he did eventually find the Children's Tylenol that Dad always used for them, and smiled.

"Bingo."

But when he shook the bottle, it became abundantly clear that 'bingo' was the wrong sentiment.

They were out.

Dean dug for the regular Tylenol—he could cut the tablets in half, maybe—but couldn't find any.

"Uh, Dee?" Sammy called from across the room, and Dean stopped ransacking the duffel bag, only to hear a horrible churning sound start up from the bed. Dean thought some words he'd heard his Dad use (but then gotten in trouble for using at school), and jumped up, grabbing the bedside trash can just in time for his whimpering little sister to lurch upright and throw up the entire contents of her (rather small, he'd noticed) dinner into the proffered container.

Katie finished, took a shaky breath, and promptly started to cry.

Now Dean was sitting on a lumpy motel bed with a crying sister, a sick little brother, and a trashcan full of puke. And he couldn't see anywhere, in Dad's set of instructions, an answer for this one. He'd never had to deal with a sick kid _alone, _much less two of them at once—sure, all three of them had been ill at one point or another, but Dad had only recently begun leaving them alone for extended periods of time, and Dean really had no idea what to do.

He placed the trash can on the floor—far enough away that he wouldn't accidentally kick it over—and put his hand against Katie's forehead. If she had a fever too…

She didn't, thank God.

But she was holding her head between her hands miserably, and Sammy was rubbing at his ear again, and they were both crying—Katie trying to hold it in, Sam not bothering—and there was no Children's Tylenol…

Dean needed help, and he needed it now.

He called Dad, fighting back tears of his own, but no one answered.

He hung up and called back.

Still nothing.

Dean resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room as Katie stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, heaving again.

"Dee?" Sammy whimpered. "I feel sorta dizzy."

Taking a breath, Dean carded his hand through Sam's hair. "Lie down, buddy. I'm going to make this okay." Sam stared up at him, his expression utterly trusting, eyes glazed over with exhaustion and illness, and nodded.

"I know you will."

"Dean?" Kate called from the bathroom, sounding pained and a bit frightened. Dean rushed in to find her sitting on the cold floor, hair hopelessly mussed and skin pale. "It hurts," she murmured, both arms, broken and unbroken, curled protectively around her stomach.

"Your stomach?"

She nodded miserably. "Hurts more than just puking, Dean. What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know," he answered, kneeling beside her. "And I can't get Dad on the phone." She gasped and screwed her eyes shut against the pain, a shuddering breath releasing a moment later.

"What are we going to do?"

Ever the practical one, his Kate. Dean thought hard and fast.

"Well if anyone knows how to fix people, it's Uncle Bobby. Hold on a second."

Dean rushed out to the phone again—Sammy lay just as he'd left him, shivering, and Dean tucked the blanket around his too-warm little brother as he waited for the call to connect.

Three rings.

Four.

_Five._

Dean actually whimpered aloud at that.

He was running out of adults to call.

"Wake me up at freakin' three AM, it'd better be important," a sleep-roughed voice growled on the other end of the line.

Dean could've cried from relief. "Uncle Bobby!"

"Heya, kid," Bobby sounded instantly less threatening. "Are you all right?"

"No," Dean shook his head, swallowing his fear. "I think Sam has an ear infection, and Katie is throwing up, saying her stomach and head hurt really bad. We're out of Children's Tylenol, and Dad's not answering his phone and I can't leave them here like this and I don't know what to do or how to fix—"

"Easy there, Dean," Bobby interrupted. "It's going to be okay, kiddo. Let's deal with Sam first, all right? Tell me everything."

"Fever, ear ache, headache, trouble sleeping," he recited.

"How high's the fever?"

Damn, Dean hadn't even taken his kid's temperature! He dug the thermometer out of the bag. "Hang on, I'm taking it now."

"All right, while that's doing its thing," Bobby was rummaging for something too, Dean could hear him. "What's going on with Kate?"

"Vomiting, headache, stomach pain, and no fever."

"Has she been taking the ibuprofen I gave you guys for her arm?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, of course."

"How much?"

"One at breakfast and dinner, like you said," Dean answered. "And then tonight one extra—I remembered she shouldn't take more than four a day, but her arm was hurting—"

"Four a day for a _smaller_ dosage, Dean," now Bobby sounded worried, and Dean's heart thumped painfully.

Even _he_ knew that overdosing on medicine was bad. Really bad.

"I gave her too much?" his voice was as faint as he felt.

Some more of Dad's favorite words blasted through his brain.

"Sounds like," Bobby responded. "But listen, Dean. Are you with me? Listen."

"I'm here."

"Is she breathing all right? Go check, right now."

Dean put the phone down and ran to the bathroom. Kate was right where he'd left him, though she looked at him through dull eyes when she saw him. She gave him a half-assed smile and reached for him.

"What'd Bobby say?" her voice was weaker than he liked. He resisted the urge to just sit next to her and hug her.

"How's your breathing?" he asked, pushing her gently forward and placing his cheek against her back. Deep, regular breaths met his ear, her chest rising and falling just as it should.

Kate looked confused. "It's fine. No trouble at all. Dean, what's wrong?"

He rushed back to the phone instead of answering.

"She's breathing normally."

"Good," Bobby sounded relieved. "Keep an eye on her breathing. It should stay normal. If it starts to get labored or shallow, call 911, hear me?"

The thermometer in Sammy's mouth went off and Dean grabbed it. "Sammy's fever is at 100.8, Bobby."

"Where are you guys?"

"Some little town called Creston, Iowa."

There was muffled muttering and rustling of pages before Bobby spoke again. "Okay, kiddo, here's what I want you to do…"

* * *

><p>Bobby pulled into the little no-name hotel in Creston, cursing John Winchester yet again for being such a lousy father. He was lucky Creston was a four-hour drive from Sioux Falls—well, three, at the speeds Bobby had taken—if the kids had been too far away, he'd have been unable to do this.<p>

He knocked once, waited, then knocked three times, just as he told Dean he'd do. He heard the boy loosen the chain, then smiled when he opened the door only a couple of inches, his gun trained on Bobby's chest.

His smile was for Dean's benefit, though, not for any real joy he felt. Though he was always happy to see the Winchester kids, Dean's state worried him. The boy was pale and drawn, looked worried and exhausted and relieved all at once.

He'd have to be sure Dean got some rest after he helped out the younger ones.

"Uncle Bobby," Dean breathed, throwing the door open and colliding with the older man in a rare fit of vulnerability. The ten-year-old rarely showed such open emotion, and Bobby didn't squander the opportunity to hug him tightly.

"It's all right," he said, his voice gruff. "It's going to be all right."

"It's my fault," Dean's small voice answered.

"No, kiddo," Bobby knelt in front of him. "It's not your fault. You didn't know, now you do. There's no way you could've known. You did your best, and it's going to be fine." He pulled back, wiping at the stray tear that had appeared on the boy's face. "Now, where are they?"

Fixing up the younger Winchesters turned out to be hardly any trouble at all—Sam's ear infection was shaping up to be a mild one, so he gave the boy some juice and Tylenol and soothed him back to sleep. The boy lost consciousness with a smile on his face and the assertion that Bobby was the "bestest uncle ever." Bobby snorted his amusement.

Katie had improved in the last few hours—her reaction to the ibuprofen had been miserable but not life-threatening, despite Dean's fears to the contrary; but Bobby made sure she got some broth and juice to prevent dehydration from the way her stomach had been purging liquids. He checked her cast, asked after her arm, then sent her to bed too. He didn't miss how Kate waited until he turned away to throw her good arm around Dean's neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have complained about my arm. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to have more medicine."

Dean squeezed her close. "I didn't either, it's not your fault, Katie."

"Well it's not yours either," she whispered sternly, and Bobby almost laughed that they thought he couldn't hear this conversation. "And don't you go beating yourself up as if it is. Get something to eat and get some rest, Dean. You stayed up too, you're just as tired as me and Sammy."

Dean nodded and let her go, coming over to stand by Bobby, who was putting some Children's Tylenol into their med duffel. Bobby smiled.

"She was right, you know. Your turn; eat and then sleep."

Dean didn't argue with him; but he did bestow another hug on the older man.

"Thanks for coming, Bobby."

"You're welcome, boy."


End file.
